


Ribbons and Lace

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Crossdressing, F/M, Gen, Non-Sexual Age Play, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1976958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has wistful memories of watching little girls at play when he was a child and being unable to join in. Natasha gives him a space where he can explore that softer side when the world gets to be too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started off relatively innocuous.

 

Steve and Natasha were hanging out on the couches in the common area post-mission, limp and drained but unwilling to give in to their exhaustion just yet and retire as their teammates had already done one by one. Conversation drifted, as it does, touching on this and that. 

 

Steve could never quite recall how it ended up touching on the topic of wistful childhood memories. 

 

"I never had a birthday party," Natasha admitted quietly, "I didn't know what they were until I was on a mission for the Red Room when I was thirteen. I was sent in as a party guest to kill the guest of honor's father. I don't know what he'd done to draw their ire, but they put me in a pretty dress and handed me a wrapped box, and I didn't know what to do with it until they explained that it was a present. I was supposed to kill him while everyone was distracted by the festivities and slip away, but I lingered to watch her open her presents, and the joy in her eyes..."

 

Her lips twitched and she trailed off for a moment, eyes softening. Steve recognized the movement as the expression of trust and openness that it was, considering how carefully Natasha controlled her body language as a matter of course thanks to a lifetime of training. That she was willing to let down her guard a little and show emotion that hadn't been carefully scripted into an interaction was a sure sign that she'd come to regard him as a trustworthy companion, and Steve cherished that gift. 

 

"...I envied her innocence. I didn't have my first birthday party until after Clint brought me in, but I don't think it's possible to recapture that lost innocence."

 

Steve nodded thoughtfully. Was there anything in the face of that kind of loss? It wasn't like he could fix it, and there was no way he could truly understand what she'd been through as a child. 

 

As the silence stretched out, he thought back to his own childhood and things he'd missed out on as a boy. He almost didn't say anything; he'd certainly never admitted to anything of the sort before, and the potential for negative reaction almost glued his lips shut out of sheer nerves, but he found himself admitting with a touch of hesitation, "I was always sick and tiny and couldn't do much, and I hated it. I couldn't keep up with any of the boys, not even the ones way younger'n me, no matter what I did. That wouldn't've been nearly so bad, though - I was kind of quiet and I'd really rather stay home and draw, but the girls wouldn't let me play with them either because I was a boy, and let me tell you, that got pretty lonely. Sometimes I kind of wished I'd been born a girl so no one would mind so much that I was dainty and frail. I used to spend hours dreaming about what it would be like, and how I could put my hair up with pretty clips and ribbons and wear soft cardigans and wool skirts and relax with my friends instead of always having to fight and push and stand up like a brave soldier. Don't get me wrong - I love being a soldier! It just gets exhausting never being able to lay down the mantle sometimes. Things got a bit better once Bucky came along, mind you. He was pretty good about slowing down a bit so I could keep up or helping me along so I could move a bit faster. He wasn't always around, though, so I still ended up spending a lot of time watching life move by without me."

 

Natasha watched him an expression he didn't know how to interpret. She made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat before softly stating that she'd never really had the chance to be a girl herself. 

 

The conversation quickly turned to other matters, and before long the subject was forgotten as they bewailed Tony's latest escapades and the field day the press had been having as a result. This, of course, led to a rehashing of some of his other stunts, and the conversation lasted far longer than it should have before the two finally turned in for the night.

 

The next morning, Steve woke up to discover a set of simple hair clips on his bedside table. 

 

He stared at them, nonplused. Wherever could they have-

 

His brain caught up with him, recalling the previous night's conversation. Had Natasha-? She must have. The how... well, even if he wasn't sure how she'd managed to get them in without waking him, he wasn't in the least surprised to discover that she was capable of such a feat no matter HOW heightened his senses were. But why? 

 

He picked them up wonderingly, examining them in great detail. He turned them over, then flipped them again, stroking them lightly with the pad of his fingertip. He realized with a start that he was holding his breath and let it out with a huff. He raised a trembling hand to his hair as if to put one of the clips in, then dropped it as if burned. He couldn't. He didn't dare. He needed to distract himself and get on with his day. Nothing like a morning routine to get himself a little more settled.

 

"Jarvis, what's the weather like?" He hoisted himself up, leaving the clips on the night stand.

 

"It's 7:02 in the morning, sir. The weather outside is balmy and sunny with a cool breeze at 72 degrees. There is a slight chance of showers later in the afternoon…"

 

Steve allowed the familiar patter to calm and center him as he went through his morning ablutions and put on a clean set of clothes. As he made his bed, his eyes caught on the hair clips again. He touched one with one finger, then snatched it away, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the clip. Such a small thing to inspire such fear, but he'd seen the types of reactions people had towards those who weren't gender normative. Even in this day and age, he'd heard remarks.

 

He set his jaw resolutely. He didn't think he could wear them, but no one needed to know he had them. They could be his dirty little secret.

 

He snatched them up before he could change his mind and dropped them in his chest pocket. There was something nice about knowing they were there to keep him company. A reminder that it was okay to have a soft, delicate part inside that needed nurturing sometimes.

 

He smiled to himself as he headed up to breakfast. Most of the team was still abed, but Bruce was making tea and Natasha was munching away at a bowl of cereal. Steve nodded greetings to both. Bruce grunted unintelligibly. Natasha looked him over, noted the bulge in his pocket, and raised an eyebrow a bit. Steve flushed, and he could've sworn he spotted the curl of a smile lurking in the curve of her lip.

 

"Good morning, Steve. Did you rest well?"

 

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

 

She quirked an eye at the unexpected honorific, but there was definite satisfaction to that face. This cat had gotten her cream, and she fully intended to savor it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The mission was a bust. They weren't even sure who was behind the attacks, they hadn't been able to save the hostages, and Fury was livid about all the damage they'd done for so little payoff. Everyone came home demoralized and defeated, and tempers were short all around. The team was quick to disperse upon arrival at the Tower, leaving Steve standing forlornly in the middle of the kitchen.

 

He ran his hand through his hair, letting out a deep sigh. He took missions like this one especially hard. As team captain, he always felt like it was his responsibility to anticipate anything that could go wrong, plan accordingly, communicate the strategy to the rest of the team so they knew what to do, and circumvent the problems. A failure of this magnitude meant that he had failed them across the board, and it nagged at him. Times like these, he truly felt what a poor excuse for a soldier he really was. Perhaps if he'd worked his way up through the ranks instead of being rocketed up with a bare minimum of training he might've had a better feel for the strategies necessary for this sort of situation? But there was no way to know at this point. His fame had left him no space to learn the basics, and there was no way to turn back the clock and see how things might have played out differently under other circumstances.

 

A sound behind him made him turn. Natasha stood in the doorway, giving him a measured glance. Her hair was damp and she'd changed out of her uniform, so she'd clearly headed back to her room to clean up before coming back up here. 

 

"Stewing isn't going to do you any good, you know," she pointed out.

 

He nodded ruefully. "I know. I just…don't know how to unwind. I almost feel like I'm vibrating right now, I'm so cranked up."

 

"Well, standing around in your filthy uniform certainly isn't going to do it. Why don't you go take a shower and put on something comfortable, and most of all clean? I'll be in the living room whenever you're done. You're welcome to join me."

 

It took him longer than it should have to see the sense in her suggestion, which was probably incredibly indicative of his sheer levels of exhaustion, but after a bit of mental debate, he gave in. "Yes, ma'am, that sounds like a good plan of attack."

 

He didn't notice the hint of a smile gracing her face as he turned and headed up to his room. He stripped gracelessly, letting bits and pieces of his uniform fall where they may, and stepped into the shower Jarvis had thoughtfully started for him as he approached his quarters, allowing the hot water to wash away some of the sins of the day. He scrubbed and scrubbed until he was pink all over, then scrubbed some more. He wasn't sure whether he'd ever feel clean again after a day like this. Even so, eventually all good things must come to an end, and he started to reassemble his mask of competence, one article of clothing at a time.

 

By the time he rejoined Natasha, he was still feeling incredibly tender on the inside, but his outer reserve had been bolstered by his uniformly crisp trousers and neatly pressed button down shirt. He was neat and presentable once more, and if he was still breaking on the inside, no one had to know it but him. 

 

Natasha patted the cushion next to her, "Come here, myshka."

 

Steve hesitated, caught off guard. Of all the team, Natasha was the most reserved, and she valued her space. To be inviting him close like this was unexpected and out of character. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

 

"Myshka?" He asked, curious, as he gingerly took the seat offered to him.

 

Natasha looked at him with clear affection in her eyes, and he felt his own eyes widen in response, an unexpected warmth spreading in his chest as she translated, "Little mouse." Her fingers dipped unerringly into his chest pocket, where his hairclips sat (as they always did, nowadays, since he'd found himself unable to leave them behind in the weeks since she'd left them for him... even if he'd never actually found the courage to put them to use so far.) She fished them out and held them up between them.

 

Steve sat bolt upright in alarm, glancing around frantically to check and make sure no one could see. No one could know about his…aberration. To think what they'd do to him if they found out-! He squirmed uncomfortably. The logical part of his brain suggested that his team was unlikely to react in the worst way possible, but he couldn't help the paranoid part of himself trying to catalogue the jokes Clint might tell or the looks Tony might shoot him if they ever caught him out like this. He'd had a lot of time to develop this paranoid side of his imagination, and he definitely wasn't ready to see how it lined up with reality.

 

"Shhhhhh…there, there, myshka. No one's going to come. No one's going to see. Jarvis, what's the team status?"

 

"Agent Barton is nested on the roof and looks to be there for some time. Doctor Banner is meditating in his chambers. Sir is in the workshop. Master Thor is off premises at the time being. Shall I alert you if anything changes?"

 

"Yes, please. That will be all."

 

"Always happy to be of service, madam."

 

"There, myshka, you see? It's safe. No one has to know."

 

Steve slowly relaxed as Natasha gently stroked his head, murmuring softly to him the whole time. "There's a good girl. You see? No one else is here, just you and me. It's okay. You don't have to pretend while it's just the two of us. I've got you." 

 

Steve startled at being called a good girl. It was a strange feeling. He'd wished for it, and he liked it, but it felt unfamiliar and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it just yet. He was definitely interested in exploring this some more, however. Just the idea of being able to let go and let Natasha take charge for a bit was an amazing thought all by itself. Maybe, just this once, someone else could keep watch for him the way Bucky used to when they were just kids. He hadn't had that kind of support in such a very long time, and he craved it. He just didn't quite know how to let those barriers down just yet. There were chinks in the walls, though, and they were letting the light shine through here and there. 

 

As Natasha continued to stroke his hair and murmur to him, he slowly found himself sliding down the front of the couch to puddle at her feet with his head in her lap. Natasha smiled a little and kept stroking, reaching down to clip his hair clips over some errant locks of hair. "There's my good little girl," she murmured, pleased. "That's my myshka."

 

Steve closed his eyes and let himself float. He was safe for now, and all was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Russian is entirely sourced from the internet, so I welcome correction if I get it wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

It took Steve a while to come to terms with… this, whatever "this" was. He'd seen what had happened to effeminate men in his neighborhood when he was growing up. He'd heard the slurs, seen the brutal violence lobbied against them. He'd learned early on what is and is not acceptable - and more importantly, safe - manly behavior to exhibit, especially for someone as scrawny and sickly as he'd been. He'd had to be ten times as brash and aggressive as any of his peers to make sure he didn't fall victim to those particular implications, and even now that he was strong and independent, living in an era where those prejudices were no longer the norm, it was hard to erase the lingering stench of fear.

 

His research into more recent norms hadn't exactly set his fears to rest, either. The rates of violence and prevalence of hatred against and disdain for those who weren't gender normative were disheartening. Even among those who weren't overtly antipathetic, it seemed more common to levy jokes at their expense than to take them seriously and treat them with kindness and respect. All in all, there wasn't much to encourage him in his pursuit of... whatever "this" was.

 

The siren draw of those quiet moments when he was able to drop the fade and simply be Natasha's myshka were hard to resist, however, especially after the kind of mission that left the adrenaline flowing and the blood pumping long after it was over, where everyone on the team practically vibrated with tension.

 

Everyone had their own ways of dealing with those missions.

 

Stark always retreated to his workshop, guaranteed to stay there for the next day or three, unlikely to pause to eat or rest unless someone came down to harangue him into some sense. Steve always tried to poke his nose in and force the issue at reasonable intervals, but it was generally best to leave him to his own devices for the first day or so.

 

Barton resorted to physical release - hour after hour in the range, time in the gym burning off excess fuel, long explorations of the Tower's ventilation system, or various combinations of said activities. Eventually he'd end up burning himself out and crashing long and hard, but it took some time to reach that point when he was this keyed up. This tendency got exacerbated on those occasions when he felt that there'd been some personal failing on his part and ended up running himself through the ringer to make sure his skills were at the peak of perfection. Steve had tried time and time again to get through to the archer that he was only human, but he'd eventually had to concede that Clint needed this time to help himself come down off of certain missions, and there was nothing to be done for it.

 

When Thor was in town, he was sure to escape the confines of the Tower to burn off his excess. He was uncharacteristically taciturn when it came to where he went during those times, but Clint tended to speculate that he was off to romance his lady-love, the beautiful Dr. Jane Foster. Of course, Barton's speculations also tended to dwell rather more on Dr. Foster's assistant's rather plentiful assets…

 

Doctor Banner's coping mechanisms varied. Sometimes he resorted to tea and classical music. Other times yoga or meditation. Far too often, however, the stress of such missions layered on top of the taxing nature of his transformations left him far too exhausted to do more than stumble off to bed and collapse for a day or two. Some days he wasn't even able to make it on his own power, and Steve found himself pouring the good doctor into bed on more than one occasion.

 

He wasn't sure what Natasha's natural inclination would be in these situations. In the past, she'd always seemed to disappear into the ether for three or four days, only to reappear without notice. Nowadays, however, he found that she was always at hand when he'd dispensed of his duties as team leader to take him by the hand and lead him back to her rooms with a simple summons. "Come, myshka."

 

Their size difference always seemed incongruous at these times. He towered over her while in his mind's eye he seemed to shrink into himself and she grew up to cradle, protect, and support him.

 

She always sent him off to get clean, washing away the physical dirt and grime and stench of the outside world but also giving his mind the space to center itself within Myshka's simpler head space and allow everything else to drop away. Her guest bedroom had been firmly established as his by now. The bathroom was stocked with scented products of a sort that Natasha would never allow near her own skin for fear of giving away her presence at an inopportune moment. A small dish housed a growing assortment of hair clips, although he had never quite hit the stage where he could put them in himself. There was something nice, however, in that feeling of dependence. He liked that when he was dressed, Natasha would sit him down and brush his hair and put clips in her little girl's hair.

 

He kept a few changes of clothes in the room, but this time as he climbed out of the shower he discovered that Natasha had laid out something different for him on the bed. His breath caught as he reached down to stroke the soft fabric. It was nothing fancy - cotton panties and a lace trimmed undershirt, a simple top, a plaid skirt, knee socks, loafers - but all the more striking in the matter of fact utilitarian nature of the clothes. Did he dare?

 

"Do you need help getting dressed, myshka?"

 

He whirled, embarrassed to be caught caressing the material, even if Natasha had been the one to procure it for him. He opened his mouth to send her away, then hesitated. He wasn't sure he'd be able to work up the guts on his own, and as Myshka, it was okay to ask for help if he needed it. He closed his mouth again and nodded, not quite up to vocalizing the request but willing to take her up on the offer since it had already been voiced.

 

Natasha smiled - a genuine smile that would've shocked the team to see, which had been making an appearance with increasing frequency as these sessions went on - and stepped into the room, opening a dresser drawer and drawing out a container of baby powder. She took his towel, dried him off gently, then applied the powder to the damp spots. He flushed at the intimacy of the gestures, and something inside him warmed at the idea that this was a safe space where he could let down all barriers, both physical and mental, and no harm would come to him.

 

As she dressed him from the skin out, he melted more thoroughly into that safe space in his head than he ever had before. He didn't have words tonight, but he didn't need to. Natasha already knew. There was nothing to explain beyond the simple hug he gave her before she took him by the hand and led him out to eat macaroni and cheese and cuddle in front of some cartoons.


	4. Chapter 4

Since Steve's birthday fell on a national holiday, it tended to get subsumed by an air of patriotic fervor. The advent of his career as Captain America had done nothing to temper that tendency. It all turned into a big, overblown to do nominally in his honor despite barely having anything to do with Steve himself. The strains of Happy Birthday competed with Star Spangled Banner and America the Beautiful and - thanks to Stark's machinations - the Rockettes in full on USO gear giving a full fledged rendition of Star Spangled Man with a Plan at a black tie event while Steve was paraded around and forced to mingle with all the creme de la creme of society… and almost none of whom Steve knew outside of his own teammates. 

 

Dinner hadn't been so bad. He'd been seated between Natasha and Clint, so he had something in common with his companions and conversation had flowed relatively freely. He'd even had a few laughs with them at the ridiculous extravagance as the monstrosity of a cake had been wheeled out, with an honest-to-goodness lady popping out the top as Steve was adjoined to blow out all 94 candles decorating the pastry. He avoided even acknowledging the table at the back of the room overflowing with lavishly adorned gifts.

 

Now that dinner was over, however, he'd lost his protective detail and been forced to mingle without their support. He pasted a smile on his face, aware of his duty as a host and guest of honor, and circulated the crowd politely, bending his ear to this conversation and that. He felt his facial expression become increasingly brittle the longer the night drew on as Captain America was drawn on by one and all and Steve Rogers found himself roundly forgotten. 

 

As he felt himself nearing his breaking point, someone touched his elbow gently. He jumped, startled, and turned to find Natasha seeking his attention. "Shall we dance?"

 

He hesitated, torn. He'd really like to accept her out, but- "I don't know how."

 

Natasha smiled. Outwardly, it resembled her polite façade of a smile that only made its appearance on undercover ops, but something in her eyes suggested there was more truth to this one than most. "I'll just have to teach you. Come, myshka, let us have a lesson."

 

She extended a hand for him to take and led him onto the floor. Steve flushed at hearing that name uttered in such a public setting, but nothing within him could refuse Natasha when she drew on it. He hesitated once more but then drew himself up and placed his hand in hers trustingly and followed her lead.

 

They took their turn around the dance floor, Natasha setting the pace, and it went more smoothly than he'd feared. All he had to do was follow along, and she kept him moving in the right direction. "Breathe, myshka, relax. I've got you."

 

He swallowed, feeling naked and exposed in the middle of the room while hundreds of strangers, supposedly here for his sake, pinned him with their gaze. "I thought I could handle it, I really did. I just feel like a prize stallion, brought out to show my paces, but no one's really here for me. I might as well be stuffed and mounted for all they care." He tried not to let his pleasant mask slip, but the misery came through in his eyes. 

 

Natasha squeezed his arm gently as they danced. "I'm proud of you, myshka. You're bearing up well under the strain. Can you hold it together for another hour or so? That should be long enough to have paid your dues. We'll slip away in a bit and go some place a bit more private."

 

Steve nodded, face pinched but resigned. "I know Tony means well, but…"

 

Natasha laughed gently. "He has a lot to learn. Perhaps by next year he'll know better. And if he doesn't, we can sit on him and drive it into his skull."

 

Steve snorted at the image, but he did have to admit that it cheered him up some. "An hour, then. I can hold out that long if I need to."

 

Natasha nodded. "An hour, and then we can slip out and meet in my rooms. Jarvis knows to let you in. Just give him your name. I've given you free access so you can come and go as you wish."

 

Steve's eyes widened at that statement, utterly floored. The level of trust that had to go in to Natasha of all people giving him free reign of her rooms when she wasn't present… He felt both honored and humbled by that move. He tried to come up with something, anything that he could say to acknowledge the momentousness of that privilege, but the best he could do was, "Thank you."

 

That must have been the right thing to say, because he felt the brief touch of fingers against his cheek as they stepped off the dance floor, and he spotted a soft look in her eyes as they parted.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Time seemed to drag on as Steve awaited his chance to slip away, but he bore the burden more graciously with the knowledge that at least one person in the assemblage was interested in spending time with the real Steve rather than his cardboard cutout, and that they'd have their own private celebration soon enough. Nevertheless, he heaved a sigh of relief when he finally found an opening to make his escape an hour and a half later. Natasha had already disappeared some time before, but as the man of the hour it was somewhat more difficult to escape without being seen, so it took longer to get away than had originally been anticipated. He'd managed it eventually, however, and he couldn't be happier to celebrate his new found freedom.

 

He took his bike back to the Tower, glad he'd passed on the limo ride Tony had offered him earlier this evening. His bike might be more hazardous to his hair and the lines of his jacket, but he valued the freedom it afforded him. He breathed deeply as he left the stuffy air behind and found himself really and truly relaxing for the first time all night as he drove away from that horrible pretense of a birthday party. 

 

By the time he got back to the Tower, Steve felt his muscles start to unknot, and he soon found himself standing outside Natasha's door. He debated knocking for a moment, but decided to test his newly acquired privilege instead and placed his hand on the handprint scanner, softly murmuring the word "myshka." The door slid open before him, and Jarvis warmly greeted him, "Welcome home, Master Rogers."

 

Steve blinked at the wording, startled but pleased at the implication that these rooms might be home to him as well as Natasha, but not quite sure what to make of it. He stepped inside, suddenly feeling a bit unsure of himself. He wasn't sure what to do next. Usually at this point, Natasha was leading him and taking charge so that his choices were all within a carefully structured framework.

 

He could feel himself start to shrink inside, feeling smaller and younger and more vulnerable, and he shifted his weight back and forth for a moment or two, wringing his hands as he tried to figure out what to do. His body started to feel too large for his brain, so he sank onto his knees to try and adjust for the height differential, but he couldn't quite move himself out of the entry way on his own.

 

He was saved from further distress by Natasha's appearance, and she was by his side in moments, stroking his head. "Shh, myshka, it's alright. I've got you. You're safe here. You can let go. You're safe."

 

He found himself taking deep, shuddery half-sobbing breaths, and he wasn't even sure why he was crying, but Natasha's presence was a sturdy rock to cling to, and they weathered the storm. When he'd calmed himself, she stroked his cheek gently. "Better?"

 

Steve nodded. He felt spent, but the mood had passed and he felt the lighter for it. 

 

"Come, milaya moya, would you like some special birthday treats?"

 

Steve's face lit up, excited. He was surprised to discover that he was feeling full of bouncy anticipation that completely negated all of the bad feelings the rest of the day had brought up. 

 

Natasha smiled indulgently as they made their way to the living room. Steve was still feeling too small to rise to his full height, but he wasn't a baby to take advantage of all four limbs and crawl efficiently, so he ended up making his way along at an awkward shuffle on his knees. Natasha made herself a mental note that she'd have to get him some knee pads if this turned into a pattern. No point ripping his legs up pointlessly.

 

When they got to the living room, Steve clapped his hands enthusiastically and exclaimed at the sight of a small, messily iced cake that held only a handful of candles, accompanied by a mound of less-than-expertly gifts, which seemed all the more lovingly prepared for their imperfections. "For me?"

 

"Yes, for you. Happy birthday."

 

Steve blew out all the candles in one big breath and tore into the presents with utter abandonment as Natasha served up small slices for each of them. He lingered on the gifts themselves wonderingly, touching the soft pajamas to his cheek and stroking the beautifully embellished books of fairy tales in awe. He paged through the coloring books and smiled at the art supplies.

 

The last gift, however, seemed to be his favorite, and he clutched at the velvety soft, black bunny as if he never, ever wanted to let go. He touched its nose, its cheek, its tail. He stroked the long, soft ears. He held it up to his cheek and nuzzled it, and he turned large, insecure eyes towards Natasha, checking in again just to be sure. "For me?"

 

Natasha smiled a sad little smile, but nodded reassuringly. "Yes, myshka, all for you. Now come, eat your cake, and then we'll get you ready for bed."

 

Steve nodded, sad at the realization that this could only last for so long and that he'd need to head back to his own quarters and go back to being a grown up in a bit, but he couldn't let his mood get too down at his very own birthday party, and he tucked into the cake while holding his bunny close. He would have to find a good name for her, he decided. Names were important. 

 

When he was done with his cake, Natasha cleared up the remaining cake and the dishes while he paged through one of the books of fairy tales. "Will you read me a story?"

 

Natasha smiled. "Yes, but first we need to get you ready for bed."

 

Steve looked up at her, puzzled. "But I'm not ready to grow up yet."

 

Natasha stroked his cheek. "Nor do you need to. Look! You have your very own pajamas that you can wear whenever you want to spend the night." she gathered his new toys and pajamas to bring back to the guest bedroom with them, leaving the bunny to Steve to carry. "Come, myshka, it's almost bedtime."

 

They headed back to the guest bedroom and Steve's breath caught in his throat as the door swung open. It had been transformed. Natasha had kept the furniture and the layout much the same, but she'd suspended a sheer white canopy from the ceiling to frame the headboard of the bed. The bedding had been replaced by a fluffy white duvet and pillows trimmed with pale rose ribbons and delicate white lace. The walls were trimmed in rose and gold, and adorned in framed copies of old fashioned pen and ink fairy tale illustrations. A soft white rug cushioned his knees. She'd added a sole new piece of furniture next to the bed - a small white bookcase, perfectly situated to house his new books of fairy tales. 

 

"You can come here whenever you like. This is your room, and you are welcome to spend time here whether or not I'm around. I only ask that if you are going to age down and I'm not here to keep you safe, you find another adult whom you trust and either ask them to keep an eye on you or inform Jarvis whom to contact if you are in danger or distress."

 

Steve nodded. Those were perfectly reasonable stipulations. He felt slightly overwhelmed as he stared around with astonished eyes. He couldn't believe the effort that Natasha had gone to on his behalf. He half turned and buried his face in her belly for a bit, trying to catch his breath.

 

Natasha gave him a little while to adjust before nudging him into his room, stepping around him to set the books and coloring supplies on the bookcase. She held out the new pajamas. "Go wash up and try these on. There's a toothbrush by the sink. I'll hold on to your bunny while you get cleaned up, and you can pick a story for me to read while I tuck you in."

 

Steve hurried to comply, and by the time he got back Natasha was seated on the side of the bed, one of his new books in her lap. She'd turned off the overhead light and the room was lit by a small lamp on the bedside table. It was dim enough that he could see she'd gotten a night light that projected stars all over the ceiling. He took a moment to admire the lights before he crawled into bed. Natasha handed him the bunny to hold on to as he curled up with his head by her hip. "Would you like to pick a story?"

 

Steve shook his head. "You pick."

 

Natasha paged through the book before settling on a tale and starting to read in a low voice. "Once upon a time, there lived a prince…" As she read, her voice painting pictures of adventure and magic and romance, Steve's breathing evened out, and eventually he drifted off to dreamland, a smile curving his lips, his face soft and relaxed. Natasha finished reading the story, then sat there for a while longer, watching him sleep with a fond expression on her face. 

 

Finally she lowered her head to place a kiss on his forehead, stroked an errant curl out of his face, and turned off the light. She paused in the doorway to whisper, "Happy birthday, myshka," before taking her leave. Behind her, the door stayed open a crack so she'd be able to hear if Steve needed anything in the night.

 

Steve slept, and his dreams were sweet, but not so sweet as the love that surrounded and suffused him and kept him safe through the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Russian is sourced entirely from the internet, so I welcome correction from those who might know better. According to the web, "milaya moya" translates to "my sweet" in the feminine tense.
> 
> I've also deliberately had Jarvis refer to Steve as "Master Rogers" when he enters Natasha's quarters rather than "Mister Rogers" or "Captain" because "Master" is a form of address for young boys, and Steve takes on the role of a child within that setting.


End file.
